What Light Remains
by Perry Shinra
Summary: As a secret society makes threats on Hive leader Yang's life, the repressed ambitions of those forced to live under his brutal rule begin to emerge, for good or ill. Will be updated regularly.


What Light Remains  
A Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri fanfiction series  
_By Perry Shinra  
  
__  
_ **Author's notes: Heigh-ho, Alpha Centauri fans. I usually write comedies, and usually Final Fantasy or anime-related, but I've had this story brewing in my mind for a long while now. I'm using mainly original characters here, though the faction leaders we all know and love (or hate) will figure in and make appearances. Hope I'm keeping true to the theme and setting of Meier's concept. Any fans of Alpha Centauri or other AC fic writers please feel free to review, comment, or drop me a line.**** I'd love to hear from you.**  
  
Last edit: 11/23 - minor fixes and slight dialogue modifications. Addition is pending, ETA unknown.  
  
Prologue:  
Far Below a Ruddy Sky  
  
The functionary's droning voice was the sole sound in the cavernous chamber, illuminated only by a few slots of glass in the ceiling where, by pale reflections of reflections, light streamed into the office twenty-seven stories from the world above. The official, a minor bureaucrat from the fringe colony Huddling of the People, continued his passionless briefing on the recent situation at the base in the trained way of a Hive Observer. Hours before, seven people had been killed and many others wounded after the sudden appearance of a class four mindworm boil - what the commoners called a "great boil".  
Chairman Yang, slack and comfortable in his seat, percieved that the man across from him had his eyes fixed on a point just above his right shoulder. The situation report went on; one with less control may have smiled at the tension behind the monotone facade of the bureaucrat, but Yang allowed the amusement to pass over him, no more substantial than a swift breeze in the night. To express the unusual feeling would be a sign of weakness, and to show weakness now may be a fatal mistake. There was a reason his adversary had gotten this far, after all. It was no small feat, and showed he had some apptitudes. A pity they were so misdirected.  
"Engagement with indigenous lifeforms lasted sixteen minutes, thirty seconds; exhibited troop efficiency eighty-eight percent, resulting in field comission of two enlistees to veteran status ..."  
Beads of sweat stood out on the man's forehead despite the prepetual chill of the Chairman's audience hall. Somewhere in the shadows to either side the guards stood, held at bay only by Yang's inaction. The Chairman usually recieved his information through electronic transmission, but the emergence of various rogue groups - the Data Angels most prominent among them - dedicated to the "liberation" of such key Hive secrets made that decision unwise in recent days.  
_And all the more so in the future_, Yang reflected. Troubling circumstances had arisen, and they would have to be dealt with before long. But until then, more like this one would be invited to lay eyes personally upon their ruler, with whatever consequence that may bring ...  
By careful manuevering the two had arranged this meeting, allaying one another's suspicions by false gestures, each laying the delicate framework of plans within plans within plans, one the hunter and one the hunted but neither ever fully sure which role he played.  
And now the nondescript man stood there and recited, waiting.  
"Collateral damage to base facilities equals eight hundred twenty energy credits, recycling tank operation two hundred sixteen credits, garrison troop replacement thirty-three energy credits, supply expenditure in vanquishing alien threat one hundred twelve credits ..."  
Yang's sensitive mind picked up on the anomaly perhaps before the other man. "Vanquish" was not part of the precise vocabulary of a Hive Observer. The game was nearly over, then, and if this was the quality of his enemies, what had he to fear?   
On his musing he betrayed the faintest twitch of inattention ...  
"Death to the Chairman!"  
The blade was in the man's hand in an instant. He lunged forward in a fluid, expert movement, a flash of brightness against the dark honing in on the vulnerable flesh over Yang's jugular vein. With incredible speed the Chairman brought up his hands and clasped the weapon tightly in the palms of both fists before his would-be assassin had cleared the distance over the table.  
And they both knew it was over.  
  
The man's gaze traveled up over the weathered hands of his hated enemy. The double-edged knife he had used was a super tensile carbon alloy approaching the same hardness as an Earth diamond. Blood should have been dripping from twin slashes in Yang's hands, staining and pooling on the synthetic mica of the desk. Instead, there was nothing.  
No one had ever seen the inhuman monster bleed. The man who would have stood over his broken body was desperate to have this pleasure, though the vision would surely be his last before death. He realized he still had the hilt of the dagger in his grip.  
His eyes met those of the Chairman and he lost the strength to pull the weapon.  
"Who sent you?" Yang demanded in a voice cold and bitter. For a moment no words were spoken. The rebel's gaze was locked on that of the other man. Yang's eyes had an ageless quality like the reaches of space, like the darkness at the bottom of the ocean where the horrifying and unknown things dwelt ... like a predator of the jungle. How many years had this human predator's eyes seen? How many deaths? How many more would die to strike those eyes sightless?  
The assailant, all pretense stripped away, regained composure enough to glare and when he spoke his words were filled with venom. "I know nothing."  
"I thought so. I will learn more about you posthumously, rebel. Prepare yourself." Yang leaned forward and the light cascading through the glass above washed over his face in an odd dappling. The would-be killer felt the Chairman adjust his grip, grabbing vicelike onto his wrist. There was a sharp pull - pain followed and he knew his shoulder had been dislocated. He felt his own hand turn, and his knife rose, guided steady and quick by Yang as if it had been in the Chairman's own hand, to plunge deep into the rebel's throat. He collapsed to the floor, gasping.  
"This will send an appropriate message," Yang was saying to the guards. "Have the remains brought back to Huddling of the People and thrown whole before the governor's chambers. Assign another Observer to make note of who seems particularly offended by this - and who doesn't."  
Meaning began to fade from the words. The rebel - the man who had long since forgotten his given name, but whose true leaders called Mako - gazed muzzily up at the ceiling, the glass slots, not enough to be called windows, catching his eye. His individuality was subservient to his cause, just as the enemy's people were, but he had been promised an identity of his own when the fighting was over. A job, a family if he wished, and a permanent name.  
Somewhere on Chiron, twin suns shone in an alien sky of copper and rust. A sky he could barely even remember; many Hive bases had underground transportation between them.  
But he was from a fringe colony with no such facilities ... he had seen the sky once, hadn't he? It was beginning to fade from him ...  
What was it the leader spoke of ... a sky of blue ... a golden sun and silver moon ... he would never witness them ... he knew he was dying, his eyes riveted to the light he could see through that few inches of glass, that light which must be amplified to travel down and down and down for miles to reach here, for the Chairman's own enjoyment ... it seemed so peaceful ... but that light was far away from him and his comrades ...  
Blackness at the edge of his vision, and that glimpse of the outside was becoming distorted. He was vaguely aware of a detached feeling of being lifted, to be borne back to colony fifteen and thrown before the city's keepers as a desecrated corpse.  
_But they will never find my master._  
Then, as clear as any thought he had ever had, something returned to him deep from the chasm of half-rememberance and played itself to his mind's eye before he knew no more, the words of someone dear to him ... who had it been?  
_Our enemy casts a shadow over human nature with his ruthless nihilism and calls it the light. We must abandon his blank morality completely to fight him, though we risk a deeper darkness. Someday the light shall be ours, but for now this is a dark world with a dark master. Besides that which frees us, what light remains?_  
He had no more time. He shouted as loud as he could.  
"Someday the light shall be ours!"  
And the rebel felt nothing further, his last words a whisper half-heard by two Hive soldiers already on the way to carry out their duty.  
  
***  
  
A Hive neurobiologist living in the capital had discovered during the early days of Planetfall that those citizens born and raised in the Hive, and knowing nothing else outside it, exhibited a strange subconscious tendency. With only a slight margin for error occuring in the beginning of the duty cycle, each person living in a Hive base matched their stride to the collected rhythm of the population around them. A Hive man, having been seated for a time, would not stand until the majority of others moving in the base had just made contact with the floor with their heel as they walked. It represented only a tiny fraction of a second, but research had proven its uncanny regularity; the people of each Hive were invariably in step. Though there was no sensory explanation for such behavior, the doctor had been able to pinpoint an area in the left hemisphere of the brain whose increased activity seemed unique to Hive society.  
The use of psi talent was illegal within the Hive and punishable by death, but both psi talents and advanced machinery could be used to find out who, in each hive-city, was out of synch with his fellow people. It was regarded as an excellent way to determine who was a rebel or criminal without protracted investigation.  
Deep within the Hive state Hole of Aspiration, one man was drastically out of step. He had been so for quite some time now.  
He was thin-faced and sour looking, with dark eyes and lips that had formed many a sneer. Those familiar with Earth anthropology would recognize him as being of Chinese descent, like Yang himself and many of the top members of his regime; China had long been decimated, but the directive of the government relating to its legacy was unquestioned. The purity of East Asia was maintained through the Chairman's breeding programs and harsh treatment of "half-breed" spawn. Many a pair of lovers had been executed for their crimes.  
The man who paced now knew that though he was opposed at every turn, he would never need to fear _that _fate.  
His even strides brought him back and forth within the barren confines of his office. His gaze was locked on his feet, though sometimes he would pause and peer at a wall, scrutinizing it, as if expecting to see something there.  
The recommendation of the government, for one whose mental state was tumultuous as his, was meditation. It was one of the rare "privileges" allowed to any Hive citizen. But this man preferred to keep himself in motion, never to stagnate. Conclusions reached by Dr. Shimoda - the same brilliant, foolish scientist who discovered the strange unity in Hive walking patterns, and whose research eventually led to his conviction for conspiracy to commit high treason - showed that meditation led to increased beta brainwave activity, leaving the subject highly suggestible.  
It was difficult enough to maintain your force of will in the Hive without being any more suggestible.  
The transmitter on his desk was flashing a dull red light at him, demanding his attention. He carried it with him whenever he left his office, though that was becoming rare these days; the only ones beside himself who knew the location of his chambers were the deaf-mute guards posted at his door.  
He lifted the device as he sat at the stainless steel desk, and pointed it before him. The opposite wall resolved itself into a flat communications screen, shifting like quicksilver from the faux stone it had been before to a dead glass pane that pulsated faintly.  
It was a nice system to have in place. Unlike the other comscreens used in administrative offices throughout Hive territory, if Central Command turned it on to spy on him he would know right away.  
No one knew about it. No one had visited the Hole of Aspiration in a long time.  
The dim light slowly grew stronger until the visual signal was finally caught. It was a long way from the border to the core Hive computer networks around the capital, and the performance showed it. When the screen at last bore a face, the man in the office wished it didn't.  
"Heng," the messenger acknowledged in a clipped tone. "Word from Lady Kai; we have a mission for you."  
"_Regional_ Commander Xan," the one called Heng answered. "Since when do you and your 'lady' have any authority over me?" Oda Kai was regarded as one of Yang's chief henchwomen, and had gotten governorship of her own base for exemplary service to the faction. Xan spent more time around her than was strictly necessary, and it made Heng sick.  
"These orders come from the Chairman himself," Xan snapped. "And you don't deserve them, but I've been told to give you the message."   
"What's the status on my requisition for Formers?" Heng asked, apparently unperturbed. He knew that being asked such patently mundane questions raised the Commander's ire. That's why he did it. "My workers are up to their knees in xenofungus." Heng examined the face of the other to see if his ruse struck home; bald, certainly sharing his own oriental heritage, with a thick black chin-beard and an oiled mustache that put him in mind of the ancient Earth tale about Fu Manchu. The two had been in acqauintance for a long time, but Heng doubted the other would ever get any less ugly.  
"Then get out the hedge clippers," Xan snarled. "All the Formers are in active service, and the army is far too busy at Huddling of the People to worry about you."  
Heng seemed to consider this for a moment. "I hear the Blades have been found there."  
"There are no such people as the Blades. A rec commons rumor gotten out of hand."  
"A rumor which warrants the placement of ten sentinel units, Commander?"  
Xan's left eye twitched, and Heng knew he had scored a hit. The soldier did not choose to pursue it, however. "I see now why our glorious Chairman didn't contact you personally. Your fall from favor has left you bitter. But if you show you've learned something from your tenure on the border perhaps you'll get your Formers."  
"Speak."  
"Surely you remember our plan to use the aliens as bioweapons?"  
_Your lady's great failure, Xan!_ Like Yang, Heng's desire to smile had been beaten out of him long ago. The amusement was apparent only in his tone. "Of course."  
"Your pitiful fringe colony has been selected to oversee the next attempt."  
"_What?_" Heng demanded, on his feet in a flash. The bioweapons project had been a monumental and costly disaster; hundreds were killed, and the whole of Fecundity Tower had to be destroyed by heavy air bombardment afterwards. It was known that Yang had not given up on his aspiration to use the alien hordes to crush the other factions, but ...  
Xan was one of the highest ranking officers of the Hive military; he could afford to smile, and he did.  
"Indeed. I'm afraid that as lieutenant-governor you have no say in the matter, but ..."  
"This is outrageous!" Heng exploded, bringing his face closer to the monitor. "We are underfunded and understaffed! We are not equipped to house mindworms!"  
The governor of Hole of Aspiration had been killed three years prior in a mindworm attack. The Chairman's refusal to appoint a new one left the lieutenant-governor as the colony's leader, but with half the official power of a real governor. Heng knew the infuriating appointment was a punishment for earlier choices; Xan knew it too.  
"Perhaps you would like to bring it up with his excellency the Chairman?" Xan asked. Heng's boiling temper subsided, the rage draining into a pit in his stomach. "No? I thought not. If you are successful, whatever absurd requests you have will be granted. And if you fail," Xan shrugged. "No great loss."  
"When will the specimens arrive?" Heng asked, his voice taking a dead cold tone.  
"Sometime this week. They have to be prepped first. Be aware, Heng, you will not know how they come, or when."  
"And scientists?"  
"Some, but no handlers. You will have to train those yourself," Xan explained. Something in the background caught his attention, and he glanced away briefly. "I am needed. As for you ... children have a very low susceptability to centauri psi. Perhaps you should use _them _ to look after the worms, if you can't find anyone qualified." And with that, Xan was gone.  
"You arrogant bastard!" Heng called, slamming his fist on the desk. In the silence that followed he was glad for the deformity of his guards. No one had heard the outburst but him. In the silent void his fury had left behind, his mind took on a new sharpness.  
_If the breeding is successful, there's no need for the results to fall into the Chairman's hands,_ Heng mused. _And if the research team should die, who's to say the aliens weren't responsible? All specimens killed in a containment action, of course._  
Though Heng did not know exactly what he would do with a minworm boil under his command, he knew that it would mean leverage and power. Even while exiled to a hateful rank in the furthest reaches of Hive lands he had gathered as much information as he could about the goings-on in the rest of Yang's domain, and was aware that in the end only one trainer needed to survive to continue the mental gentling that theoretically kept the aliens under human control. Everyone else, without exception, was expendable.  
"Well, Xan, perhaps I'll follow your advice after all," Lieutenant-Governor Jian Heng of the Hole of Aspiration said to the darkness.  
  
***  
  
The black speeder made its way through the wild terrain with little difficulty, its driver handling its sleek mass with expert skill. Terraformed "enhancements" had disappeared long ago, and then roads. By this time, the plains on each horizon were covered in thick xenofungus. The lone vehicle's pilot glanced down at the glowing heads-up display and made a low sound in the back of his throat. He was only a short distance from the objective now. "I can beat 'em, I feel it," he said, apparently to himself. It was a long and lonely trek - "just like the open road," his superiors had said - but he had a lot to occupy his mind on the way.  
What the Hive's architects had failed to realize when they constructed their settlements underground was that any seismometer could pick up on the presence of their bases. Though difficult to pinpoint on the ground and hard to spot from the air if they lacked nearby terraformation, a population the size of a Hive base emitting totally regular disturbances and concealed only by a few hundred or thousand feet of surface practically screamed to the right equipment.  
_Totally regular_, the driver mused, and smirked. The Hive had realized that fundamental fact about themselves, but it was by his labor that the data was appropriated for better uses. It allowed the world to recognize the difference between Planet's surprisingly docile fault line activity and the more devious underground stirring of Chairman Yang's people.  
"Twenty miles to go," he said, and stopped the speeder in a clearing. It was generally accepted that Yang's security network extended in a radius of fifteen miles around each base by his own regulations, but he was not about to take any chances. He opened the hatch and stepped outside, stretching his legs for the first time in hours.  
"Well, old girl, this is it," he informed the speeder. It was a shame to be rid of such an excellent piece of machinery; it was a custom light scouting vehic he had ordered specifically for the occassion. It had a rear-view mirror to compensate for the lack of heavy radar systems that would be found on a less expendible personnel delivery vector, as the army called them. He had hung a pair of non-regulation fuzzy dice from the dashboard after he left headquarters.  
"Wish me luck," he said lightly, and turned away. He withdrew a small remote from the inside of a leather glove that reached about halfway up his arm, and keyed in a coded sequence as he began to walk.  
"'Hole of Aspiration', huh?" he said aloud. "Time for some fire in the Hole ..."  
The speeder he left behind did not so much burst into flames as dissolve into them, its glistening paint crackling as it was engulfed in a sickly blue flame. The surface crinkled and wheezed as it appeared to be drawn inward and down, parts of the land rover's internal workings visible and then smashed or consumed as two powerful forces worked to reduce to ashes what had been a fully-functional piece of combat technology only moments ago. When the process was complete, all that remained of the thing was a faint handful of black dust and a thin char mark that almost certainly wouldn't last the night. The driver was long gone.  
  
**Who is behind the plot against Yang? Will the Hive succeed in manifesting the power of Planet's mindworms to its own end? Who is the mysterious man who even now approaches the Hole of Aspiration and what is his intent? Stay tuned ...**  



End file.
